Psylochogical Fears
by Winterby
Summary: Sherman is afraid of storms. Inspired by 'Lullaby for a Stormy Night' which I highly recommend listening to first.


Mr. Peabody sat bolt upright in bed, worry tugging at his chest. As a heavy sleeper, there were few things that could actually wake him in the middle of the night. Rain drumming heavily against the penthouse roof, trees swaying in the wind, a thunderclap in the distance…it was all nothing but background noise to him. There was one sound, however, that never failed to get his attention…a sound that made his heart hammer unpleasantly with worry.

It was the voice of his son, calling his name in fear.

Peabody wasted no time rushing to his son's bedroom. "Sherman? Are you alright?" There was nothing out of place, save the tangled heap of blankets and pillows in the center of the mattress. With a sigh, Peabody peeled back the bedclothes.

There he lay, curled up on his side with his knees drawn against his chest, a pillow wrapped around his head in an attempt to drown out the noise. Sherman looked up, brow furrowed, lips trembling, and didn't even hesitate. Leaping out of bed, he dove straight into Peabody's outstretched arms. Well, that is, outstretched arms that had reached at the last minute to grab the son that came flying towards them. Not that Peabody minded or was surprised by it. In fact, he was quite used to it, as Sherman had developed this unusual habit over their four years together. It only happened when he was unbelievably scared though, and Peabody could tell that this was one of those occasions.

Sherman trembled, his face buried in his father's fur. Peabody had never seen him so shaken up. He knew Sherman had never liked the rain, but he'd never known it to upset him so much before.

"There, there," Peabody said reassuringly, though he hadn't the slightest clue how those meaningless words were supposed to comfort a frightened child. "It's okay, Sherman," he added. "Thunder isn't going to hurt y—"

But just at that moment, another booming clap of thunder shook the apartment. Peabody gasped at the sound, and Sherman squeezed him even tighter. Swiftly, Peabody adjusted his arms so that he held Sherman's head with one paw. He could hear his little heart beating like a kettledrum.

"Would you like to sleep in my room?" he asked gently. He didn't usually elect to share a bed with the boy as he tended to fidget about in his sleep, but this would be an exception. Sherman didn't need to be alone, given how frightened he was.

Sherman turned his head to look up at Peabody with one eye and nodded. His silence attested to just how scared he really was. Peabody smiled kindly as he turned away to carry the boy to his own room. Switching on the lamp on his nightstand, Peabody balanced his son on one arm so he could turn down the bedclothes. He laid Sherman down before crawling in next to him, and the boy immediately scooted closer, wrapping his arms around Peabody's middle and nestling his cheek again his fur. Peabody didn't bother to turn out the light, merely positioning his arm around the boy's shoulders and pulling the covers up to his chin.

The rain continued to drum noisily against the windowpanes. Some time passed, and Sherman had just relaxed and begun to breath evenly again when another crack of thunder exploded in the night, effectively jerking him awake. His eyes flew open, and he yelped, hugging Peabody even tighter.

Peabody wanted to say something to comfort him, but he also knew that their came a time when words were not enough. So he maneuvered his arm so that his paw rested on Sherman's head and held him closer, much as he had done when Sherman was still an infant. This sudden sentimental thought gave him an idea.

"You know," he said softly, "it was raining just like this when I met you."

Sherman craned his head to look up at Peabody's face. "It was?" he asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Ohhh yes," Peabody said with a nod. "You were a tiny thing."

"How tiny?"

Peabody thought about it for a moment.

"About the size of a loaf of bread," he said finally. Sherman giggled, and Peabody smiled too, happy to get the boy's mind off his fears.

"Where did we meet?" was the next question, and Peabody hesitated a moment before answering.

"You were…in a box. Like a present."

Sherman's eyes widened and his mouth formed a little 'o.'

"I was your present?" he asked, as if it was the craziest thing he ever heard.

"The best present," Peabody said. "You were exactly what I wanted!"

Sherman was silent for a long moment. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but he didn't seem to notice. Finally, he asked, "What happened next?"

"Well, at first you were crying, but then you saw me and you smiled and tried to grab my nose. So I picked you up, and you looked straight at me and said, 'da da.' "

"Oh." Sherman furrowed his brow. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay!" Peabody said quickly, a little guilty that his first reaction was to apologize. "I didn't mind."

It was hard to believe that it had really been four years. It felt like only yesterday! He remembered holding Sherman against his chest in an attempt to shield him from the chilly wind, and the baby had nuzzled into his fur, much in the same way he had a little bit ago. Some things never changed.

...

They were quiet, with nothing but the sound of rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. But Sherman wasn't scared anymore. In fact, it was actually rather peaceful. If he closed his eyes, he thought he could almost remember things…being cold and wet, the color red, something warm and soft, the scent of lemon grass. He didn't know if any of it was real, but they were pleasant memories, so he held onto them, smiling contentedly.

What he liked best was the idea that at one time, Mr. Peabody hadn't minded being called "dad."


End file.
